


you see that skin

by KelseyO



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Gen, ot3: dull thunk, ot3: everything's weird and we're always in danger, post-20 ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura’s been sitting on Carmilla’s bed staring thoughtfully into space since she told her the truth about Mama fifty-seven seconds ago, and despite her exhaustion due both to this week’s less-than-ideal diet and today’s surprisingly draining revelations, she still manages to arch an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Do you need a glass of water?” she murmurs with faux-concern. “I’d get you one, but I’ve recently been rendered indefinitely immobile by an overzealous child whose weapon of choice comes from the Pampered Chef.”</p>
<p>That makes Laura blink and furrow her brow a little, and then she’s up and walking around Carmilla. “Hold still."</p>
<p>(Post-20 ficlet. Title from "Daughters" by John Mayer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you see that skin

Laura’s been sitting on Carmilla’s bed staring thoughtfully into space since she told her the truth about Mama fifty-seven seconds ago, and despite her exhaustion due both to this week’s less-than-ideal diet and today’s surprisingly draining revelations, she still manages to arch an eyebrow.

“Do you need a glass of water?” she murmurs with faux-concern. “I’d get you one, but I’ve recently been rendered indefinitely immobile by an overzealous child whose weapon of choice comes from the Pampered Chef.”

That makes Laura blink and furrow her brow a little, and then she’s up and walking around Carmilla. “Hold still,” she instructs from behind her.

“You say that as if I have any other option,” Carmilla deadpans, but then Laura’s fingers are brushing against hers. “What are you doing?” The sentence is barely off her tongue when the ropes that have been constricting her for the past several days go slack; the sudden lack of tension has her slumping forward before she can stop herself, but then there’s a gentle, steadying hand on her shoulder and she glances at the fingertips resting so firmly upon her collarbone.

Laura’s grip remains. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and the words are too heavy to just be about past betrayals and lost loves.

“Me too,” Carmilla mutters, rubbing her arms where the rope has been digging into her flesh. “So if I reach for that mug of blood, are you going to twist my arm behind my back and point your spatula at my chest?”

“No,” Laura replies simply, “go ahead,” and carefully lets go of Carmilla’s shoulder.

Carmilla takes a deep breath and extends her hand toward the white porcelain, trying to ignore the visible trembling in her phalanges, and seizes the mug’s handle as tightly as she can to try to mask the unsteadiness; several long, greedy sips later, the mug is empty.

“Let me get that for you,” Laura blurts when Carmilla leans forward to set it back on the desk, perhaps to save her the embarrassment of hearing the mug rattle against the polished wood, and Carmilla begrudgingly hands it over so Laura can whisk it away.

She flexes her neck to one side and then to the other, then shifts to stand up, only to sway on her feet and have to lean against the desk for support; Carmilla closes her eyes and grits her teeth, both in anticipation of Laura’s inevitable concern and to try to stave off the dizziness, and she somehow manages to not flinch when she feels a light pressure at her elbow.

“Are you okay?”

Carmilla swallows. “I’m malnourished, exhausted, and you basically just turned the most painful moments of my entire existence into an episode of _Sesame Street_. I’m stupendous.”

“Maybe you should lie down,” Laura suggests, and her words are small enough that Carmilla doesn’t have the heart to shift away from her touch.

“Maybe,” she agrees in the most apathetic tone she can manage.

They’re both still for a beat.

“Do you… need some help?”

Carmilla bites her bottom lip and sighs a little. “Maybe,” she repeats, and then soft hands are hooking her arm around a pair of steady shoulders, and Laura slowly guides her the foot-and-a-half from the desk to her bed; once they’ve gotten Carmilla onto the mattress, she shoos Laura with a wave of her hand. “I can handle it from here, Cupcake.”

She backs off immediately, if a little reluctantly, and sinks into the same chair that’s been Carmilla’s prison for the past week, and now she’s watching Carmilla orient herself against her pillows, back into this world of comfort and forgiving textures; Carmilla really wishes she wouldn’t, because she doesn’t want Laura to see her accidental longing glance toward the yellow pillow sitting across the room.

“Is there anything I can get you? To make you feel better?”

Carmilla settles back against the mattress, laces her fingers behind her head, and closes her eyes. “Who put empathy and compassion into your cocoa this morning?”

“Carmilla, I’m… I’m _so_ sorry for being insensitive. Contrary to one of my many life mantras, puppet shows are _not_ in fact a universal storytelling medium.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “You didn’t know.”

“You literally _told_ me it was your tragic backstory.”

“When have you ever taken my word for anything?”

Laura doesn’t reply right away. “I am now.”

Carmilla hears the chair shift, the fridge door open and close, the distinct sound of liquid being poured, and then: “Here.”

She opens one eye to find Laura holding out a full cup of blood. “My senses are currently too dull to be able to detect any drug or poison you may have slipped into that, so it would be a brilliant plan if I actually trusted you.”

Laura actually looks sort of hurt for a fraction of a second, but then thinks better of it and warily dips her fingertip into the crimson and brings it to her own mouth. “See?” she says, making a face as she swallows. “Not poisoned.”

“Clearly,” she mutters, but sits up anyways and takes the mug from Laura, pulling her knees into her chest and allowing herself a few small sips as if she’s drinking hot tea beside a fire. “Look, unless you’re lying about this being poisoned, you have no reason to be hovering.” She licks a stray drop of blood from her bottom lip. “And I think it’s better for both of us if I’m alone when my strength comes back.”

Laura’s shaking her head in her peripheral vision. “Better how?” Laura asks, her tone cautious but still challenging. “You just told me you spent the equivalent of a human being’s lifetime buried underground.”

“Yeah, and what of it?” Carmilla grumbles.

“You _hate_ being alone,” Laura states confidently, obviously, as if there’s no room for argument.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “Have you read nothing of vampire lore? It’s in our nature to crave solitude.”

“And it’s in _your_ nature to steal cookies and pillows and protect fellow students from your evil mother, which is hardly the Bram Stoker stereotype.”

If Carmilla were at full strength, the white porcelain in her hand would be pulverized dust. “What do you want from me?” she snaps, decidedly glaring at her knees rather than at Laura.

“To be honest,” Laura says gently, “I’d love to hear more stories. Maybe happier ones, this time?”

Carmilla takes a deep breath in and out. “Can we drop off your puppetry supplies at the campus incinerator?”

“No, but I can put all of that away and just let you talk this time.”

She doesn’t care to understand what’s possessing her to nod slowly. “I suppose those are acceptable terms.”

Laura’s smile is genuine as she rises from her chair, grabs her yellow pillow, and takes a seat at the other end of Carmilla’s bed, propping the pillow between her and the wall and then looking expectantly at Carmilla.

She takes another sip of blood and straightens out her legs until the soles of her boots are almost touching Laura’s thigh. “Where shall I start?”

.

Danny doesn’t think she’s ever received a text message as full of shit as “Everything is fine so don’t worry about checking in later,” which is why she’s heading for Laura’s dorm room as fast as her legs will carry her.

Her brain is flying through every single reservation she’s had about allowing Laura to continue rooming with Carmilla since the official vampire revelation, and there’s a tight ball of dread forming in the pit of her stomach, because what if their carelessness has backfired, what if—?”

She opens the door without knocking, because her manners tend to disappear when there’s this much adrenalin pumping through her veins, and she nearly throws up right then and there when the first thing she sees is Laura slumped against Carmilla.

A “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” is about to explode from her throat when Carmilla glances over her shoulder and holds an index finger to her lips; she frowns and walks further into the room, and as she approaches the bed, she realizes Laura is out cold with her head resting on Carmilla’s shoulder.

“We were talking,” Carmilla explains quietly. “She fell asleep.”

Danny observes the ropes still draped over Laura’s chair, then shoves them to the floor and sits backwards so she’s leaning on the back of the seat, facing Carmilla. “She does that.”

They both somehow end up watching Laura sleep for a few beats.

“I won’t hurt her,” Carmilla says as she ghosts her fingertip along the rim of her mug. “That’s never been my intention.”

Danny listens to Laura’s faint snores. “I’m actually starting to believe that. What were you guys talking about, anyway?”

The corner of Carmilla’s mouth twitches. “The lighter portions of my tragic backstory, to make up for her hand-puppet reenactments of the tragic portions of my tragic backstory.”

“Ah,” Danny says with a playful grin, “you’ve met the puppets.”

“There should be a warning in the student handbook.”

Danny nods once. “A Laura Hollis subsection would be useful.”

Carmilla takes a careful sip of blood. “Are you going to try to convince her I should be tied up again?”

Danny shrugs. “I think if she trusts you enough to pass out with her neck so close to your teeth, then I should probably trust you, too.”

“That might be the sanest statement I’ve heard made in this room,” Carmilla mutters, then glances down as Laura mumbles something in her sleep and nuzzles a little deeper into the crook of Carmilla’s neck.

“You want some help with that?” Danny asks, only half-joking.

Carmilla shakes her head, slowly ghosting a fingertip along Laura’s wrist, knuckles, back and forth. “I think I can manage,” she murmurs.

Danny gets up from her chair and rolls it back to the desk. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she finds herself saying as she heads for the door.

“I know,” Carmilla replies, and the words aren’t nearly as irritated as Danny thought they’d be.


End file.
